


Tangerine dream

by Seashell_babble



Category: Mad Men
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 14:03:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8755417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seashell_babble/pseuds/Seashell_babble
Summary: Peggy expands.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this came from a prompt by tumblr user peggy-faces (http://peggy-faces.tumblr.com). All set during S5-E11 (The Other Woman).
> 
> I enjoyed seeing it mostly through Don’s eyes – exploring how he blurs everything inside his head and how he always, always fails to get it.

 

 

_Lime green, lime green and tangerine_

_The sickly sweet colors of the devil in my dreams_

\- The Cure, _Wrong number_

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Don was frustrated. It was still early morning, and he couldn’t stand even the thought he’d have to spend all of it with that hopeless cohort, listening to horrible lines supposedly promoting that sham of a car. He desperately needed to retreat from that conference room, maybe steal a nap for an hour or so.

So many nights with almost no sleep at all, and nothing decent coming out of it. Last night he’d managed to sneak out while they were still beating off, invoking some fake family obligation. He’d ended up in a sleazy watering hole, as usual, which might not have changed at all since its heyday as a speakeasy.

He’d drunk a lot, and finished the night in a frayed velvet booth, chattering with a promiscuous knockout blonde about god only knew what. And then, he’d left her high and dry – rushing to a cab on the first hint of daylight. Megan had woken up just the minute he’d closed his eyes, and gave no sign as to knowing how much time he’d actually spent there. It hadn’t been exactly easy, just a little bit.

She’d been at the back of his head the whole time. It was still too early, maybe he could have a go at breaking one vow at a time. Maybe, that would help so he wouldn’t have to break them all in the end. He still hoped. 

At the moment, he didn’t want to think about any of this. He just wanted to hide out in his office.

 

 

He’d just closed the door when he saw the half empty glasses on the table. Faint lipstick remainders stained the silver band on one of them. A faded, bust sweet, tangerine lipstick.

He shook his head in disapproval. He didn’t mind Peggy seeking refuge in his office, or in his liquor, but if she was to make a habit of handing out her privileges as her own favors, he’d have to do something about it.

Because that was what Peggy did, whenever given the space: expand.

That fake whipped cream fiasco was still fresh in his head. Not that anything she’d said was wrong, as he knew deep in his heart. But it was one thing to know – and ignore – that she saw all that, and another for her to proclaim it in public. A line had been crossed, and it wasn’t only about their personal balances. Don felt more and more vulnerable every day. 

 

 

And now there was another fiasco lurking behind the curtains of that boardroom. 

 

 

It was his first _actual_ car, he should be thrilled. Yet there was nothing thrilling about this mess, it just felt like a tedious, pushed and pathetic spoof more and more every day. 

The last time Peggy was nagging again, he’d entertained for a moment the fantasy of putting her on there. She’d stop being a pain at last and he’d be left alone with his good old colognes and footwear. 

And who knows, maybe she would have the balls to kick that Herb Rennet right on his own. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Megan bustled into the office beaming, hair waving smoothly, all peaches and cream and vinyl accessories. Thank God he’d woken up fifteen minutes ago.

"Just got out of class", she said. "I’m on my way to lunch with some people from there."

She pushed the small button on the knob in. "I thought I might check on my hard – working husband before", she drawled playfully, slinking towards him.

Don pulled slightly the knot of his tie. "Megan", he managed, just when she was putting her hands on his knees, bringing her legs around him. "I do have a lot of work."

"Oh." She seemed disappointed, but not incorrigibly.

Don believed that after she’d left she wouldn’t really like to wander around the office, and indeed, at first this had been the case. But now she seemed to have built up a nerve, a strange confidence – every time she walked in there, more and more often lately, it was like affirming how brilliant her choice had been. She was moving on to new constellations and Don was being left behind, otiose, outdated, facing directly the bottom of a glass. 

Speaking of which.

Megan tilted her head sideways, her weight still on his lap. He followed her gaze to the pair on the table, the ruby traces on the right one looking, from this angle, thick and sticky.

"These were here in the morning", he waved his hand awkwardly. "Peggy."

Megan ran her eyes quickly over him and Don hoped she’d believe him. It’d make his last night’s temperance even more pathetic, if she didn’t.

"Okay", she tweeted and gave him a deep kiss. He grabbed her hair and deepened it further, going from affectionate to hungry, but not too much.

She picked his handkerchief out of his pocket to correct her smudged lipstick, and swayed her way back up. "I’ll see you at home", she smiled.

 

 

Just then, Peggy stormed into the room.

"Dawn’s at lunch", she barked.

Megan took a small step back from his arms and Don’s hand was left in the air, right where it should be stroking her chin.

Peggy halted, staring. She was carrying a pile of folders under her arm.

He noticed, with slight irritation, Megan tug at her skirt almost bashfully. "Hello", she offered her invincible beam.

Peggy cast her a once-over. "Hello."

"What are these?" Don asked abruptly, confused. Peggy plunked the folders down on his desk. "How’s everything going?" he added.

"Will you just put a signature so I can move on with them?" she said hastily. "Right now, if possible. I really don’t have any time to spare at all."

 

 

* * *

 

 

He called her back later, resolved to assert his sovereignty in his own office.

Peggy seemed a little off, but he couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed or offended. Should he have tried to be _friendly_ , instead of dressing her down for her bossy affectations? As if this place didn’t already look like a kindergarten enough.

"Jesus", she said, "seriously? I wasn’t trying to _show off_ to _Stan_. It was just practical. Our liquor was gone."

Don made no other move than arch his eyebrows – just enough. "Don’t let it happen again."

Peggy stood weirdly erect in front of his desk.

"Yes sir. I’ll see that we stay fully equipped from now on."

And she spun on her heels and disappeared.

 

 

* * *

 

 

On his way out, he caught the last of the dynamic duo stepping into their office. They didn’t see him, or didn’t pay any attention. Peggy wasn’t about to make any effort to keep her griping down anyway.

"How can this possibly take so long? You’re on other business besides Jaguar, you know."

"Hey, don’t push me" Stan countered her. "You’re the one who allegedly stayed here all night and has nothing to show of it."

Well.

Maybe it wasn’t important. Although he couldn’t think of any other time she’d lied to him.

Don peeked into the creative lounge, curious about what they’d been working on. There was no sign of that, though – they’d carried everything with them.

_Almost_. Still on the table stood a bottle with brown content, considerably downed, flanked by two glasses. Don was pleased to see his instructions followed already, but still something felt off in the picture. Might be the obliviousness, he shrugged. Not that he himself was setting a great example on it, so maybe better not complain about it now.

He took back his way to the elevator.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Shit", Megan spouted. "This dress doesn’t match with any of my coats. And I don’t have time to change."

"Didn’t it come with its own coat?" He remembered her taking them out of the bags, putting them on for him right there.

"A button fell off! I just saw", she brisked up her pace sliding her earrings on.

"So don’t wear one", he called putting his own coat on. "I think you’d look even greater if you didn’t wear the dress too, but that’s just me."

Megan shot him a glare and sighed, grabbing her bag from the rack. "Let’s go, Don."

He tripped trying to catch up with her. "Hey, I wasn’t late", he protested.

What he really wanted to do with his evening was slump in the couch and indulge in the warm company of his unopened, most loyal friend. Instead, he was going to sit through an experimental staging of Pinter’s _Birthday Party_ , which was about to turn out just as bad as its ominous title predicted.

He didn’t know that yet. Megan was waiting for him at the doorframe, a tangerine vision in the middle of winter, the cutest impatience spread on her face.

"I’m sorry", she shook her head. "I’m being edgy for no reason."

Don smiled reassuringly. "You look great", he endorsed, guiding her out of the apartment.

 

 

 

It was a real struggle to not stumble on the way from the elevator. Even greater, Don thought, than the one he’d had to give so as not to let his opinion slide out of his mouth during the long dinner they’d had with Megan’s enlightened classmates. To keep clear of talking, he’d drunk, and now he was feeling a sweet wave of exhaustion, like a soldier coming home from a gory battlefield.

Megan had drunk too, but she seemed unfazed.

"Jim told me he knows the director", she cheeped cheerfully as he sat down behind her. "He said he believed I was exactly the kind of girl they want for the part."

Don thought of late night phone calls, of an empty apartment, of having to fly to a strange city to admire his wife on a strange stage.

"Merde", she mumbled. "Don, honey, don’t fall asleep on the couch." When he made no sound nor move, she took her way to the bedroom. "Listen, tomorrow I have a double class, but our dinner plans are still on", she called before disappearing, leaving him wondering about her newfound air of aplomb.

Don thought it was reserved for her office visits, since he knew, beyond doubt, that she’d been sweating over every new reading just till a few days ago. She hadn’t received any real positive answer so far. So where did that come from? What was her strength?

He felt the darkness come closer as he lay back on the couch. Or it was just youth, and beauty. Those were serious weapons.

He closed his eyes, the image of her at the bar earlier swimming in his drifting mind. Shining, grinning, so charmingly tipsy. Secretly winking at him, toasting to their unique unison amid a crowd of ignorant strangers. That was the last thing he saw; the spark in her eye, then on the glass she was raising, full glass, low, marked with her juicy, lubricious tangerine lipstick.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The door of his office shut with a loud bang behind him. He had no wish at all to be there, everything bringing back Pete’s words from yesterday, pounding in his head. _She said we couldn’t afford it._

And she was right, he thought. He looked around him, all that, he thought - he didn’t know about the others, but he couldn’t. Not anymore.

Don stood awkwardly in the room for a moment, fists clenched, mind astray. Fuck the mistress thing, he’d said, and then the best idea came out of it. He might have spent some time, back in the days, contemplating his futile attempts at gripping the moral core of the world around him. But all that existential bunkum just seemed too tiring, too disorienting, all of a sudden. Where were the days when he was able to be, above all, practical?

"Dawn, could you get Peggy in here?"

Time to have a look at the rest of the stuff this company was supposed to be dealing with.

When he got no answer, he decided to walk down to Peggy’s office. Even if everyone was at lunch, she’d be sure to be stuck there.

He was surprised to find only a frustrated Stan in the room, buried under a jumble of charcoals, tracing papers and unfinished boards.

"I don’t know where she goes, man", Stan grunted, blowing eraser crumbs away from his pad. "She keeps cutting _my_ lunches off, and then she disappears. It’s the third time this week."

 

 

 

Back in his office, Don poured a glass and plunged into the couch. He looked around restless, striving to think of something to do. He still had to work on the presentation for Jaguar, but that still made his stomach lurch in more ways than excitement does, so he put it off, just a little bit more.

Where the hell was Peggy? He now realized how much responsibility he’d handed her – and not that she’d shirk in the end, but hell; long, successive, mysterious lunches? She’d started going about everything in her own way, and not always – remember Heinz, for instance – with great results.

She might be still holding a grudge about that Chevalier thing, but that was ridiculous. What he’d said _was_ the right thing to do, she’d see that when everything got back to normal. She’d get some rest and some of her thick skin back.

Or maybe she’d found a boyfriend, and temporarily had her head in the clouds. Wait, she already had that hippy reporter, no? Well, maybe a new one.

Combined with those recent petty acts of defiance, he thought perhaps she was just trying to poke him, make a stand. Whatever. He’d have to make sure she understood how feckless her efforts were, have Joan load all her lunches for the oncoming days – he needed updates, and time was really restricted.

 

Joan. The thought reemerged as he was refilling the glass. Shit.

 

He stretched out and grabbed the receiver. He could use some of his wife’s distracting sweetness right now, even through a phone cord.

But the phone kept ringing and no-one picked up.

What the hell was happening? Megan didn’t have class earlier than three. And she’d pledged on escargots à la bourguignonne for tonight. Yes, Don was about to be eating snails in his dining room – at least, that was the plan last time he’d checked. Might as well get on with the Jaguar thing, he concluded. The sooner he got it out of his mind, the better.

When Ginsberg had sprang that tag he’d felt… relieved. Relieved to hear the most fitting, pithy yet promising line come out of the mouth of a younger man. Not so long ago, it would have been his mind to reach that line, or another one like it. But now there he was, feeling relieved and accomplished picking out the gems his subordinates gave birth to. That was his job.

That, and deliver it in a way that would make them all shiver in awe in that room. In a way that would make Herb Rennet choke on his bagging, disgusting blubber.

 

 

 

Within fifteen minutes Don was in full shape, pacing in front of the little ensemble, gesturing to imaginative boards around him. He’d cleared his throat one or two times, stopped and resumed a couple more, but now he was close. Finally getting to it. 

With a somewhat brisk pirouette, he let the pen he was holding fly out of his hand. He squatted down with a low curse to retrieve it. Funnily enough, the pen had rolled underneath the sofa and, before setting off on a furniture dragging operation, he attempted to shove his hand in the slot, hoping he might get it.

He didn’t. But his fingers bumped on a small grit, which irritated him even more– even the janitors, apparently, were going sloppy around here.

He pulled it out and examined it for some time.

Then he pulled himself up, not bothering to hold back a grunt. His knees and back were killing him, and before he knew, he’d sunk back in the cushions, his head lightly shaking, his gaze lost far in space. 

This was ridiculous.

In fact, the word was not enough to describe it. Outrageous. Disgraceful. Ungodly. If he needed any more proof that his head was sick, in a way, there it was.

A small, round, tangerine plastic button. Straight out of Megan’s coat.

She’d never worn that in there.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"I think Don knows something", Megan whispered over the phone. "He’s been so weird lately."

"Why are you whispering? He’s here, not there", Peggy replied. "How can that be? We’ve been careful. Never came here again."

She slid her pen behind her ear and started toying with the cord. "He’s been kinda weird with me too", she mused. "But I thought he was just going nuts over this – fucking car."

"The shiny mistress?" Megan scoffed. "Please."

Peggy giggled. "Same place, same hour?"

"Wouldn’t miss it for the world."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Don dashed down a quiet hallway - the place empty for the night, save for a flustered Dawn tidying the things on her desk, and a smug Pete, still congratulating himself in his office.

And Peggy, of course. He caught a glimpse of her in the lounge, examining one of the boards Stan was laying on the desk. They were both bending over it, oblivious of the real world; heads leaning towards each other, glasses in hand and brows furrowed in deep concentration.

He didn’t have time, now. _Autrefois_ – he remembered – picking his battles was a privilege.

 

 

 

As he approached Joan’s door, a shot flashed through his mind – and then vanished, and he wasn’t able to call it back, no matter how hard he tried. A shot of a bottle, round, brown, the label’s corners peeled off. On either side of it, two glasses, low, silver – banded, identical. Not a hint of a smudge on any of them.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was a glass like that he found in his office the next day, right after he came back from the greatest presentation of all times. Enough was enough, he thought, even though something inside him dinged in warning, and he made up a reason for needing to see her immediately. 

"How’d it go?" she asked first thing.

"Great."

Her eyebrow joggled imperceptibly.

"Good. It’s good to know you actually _have_ figured out the best firepower management in this office."

 

 

Peggy bucked, of course. She denied his claims, suggesting that Roger might have been in there – or anyone else, she wasn’t in charge of everything and especially not of being his office’s guardian dog, she remarked. He scoffed.

"I don’t need your liquor, Don."

"No you don’t."

"I don’t need your space, either." She held his eyes for what seemed a little too long. "I have mine."

"And you don’t need my - firepower", he nodded to the work he’d had her bring in, which apparently had already received glowing remarks from all parties concerned.

"That’s right."

He took a deep drag, squinting. "I thought we kind of shared that." He puffed out a cloud. "Around here."

Not even a hair on Peggy moved.

"I thought so too."

 

 

* * *

 

 

"You’re late", Megan stated, opening the door. She stood there in her glittered dress, arms braced on her waist. "And I can’t really stay long today, I have an audition at 2.00."

Peggy slipped past her, taking her hat off.

"I’m sorry, I had a lunch I couldn’t skip." She placed her coat on an armchair and inspected the room. Satisfied, she turned with a faux – apologetic grimace. "Another audition?"

"Who did you have lunch with?" Megan inquired impishly.

Peggy ran her fingers down Megan’s dress, fondling with its – scandalous – hem. "You think you can snaffle a costume out of there? Maybe a clingy, sci-fi jumpsuit? We could have a ball."

"You’re a pervert", Megan laughed teasingly. "Even Don hasn’t asked me that yet."

A distant spark flashed in Peggy’s eyes; then a blink swept it away. "I don’t want to talk about Don."

"Has he been pushing you too hard?" Megan sounded somewhat concerned. "I know he’s been wild lately."

"I’m not in the mood for office talking."

"Come on, you’re allowed to complain a bit", now Megan was nibbling at the lobe of her ear. "It’s not as if I were being the best wife in the world."

"No", Peggy was terse. "I don’t want to talk about Don." Her hand finally skimmed under that vertiginous hem. "Or anything else."

 

 

 

"So", Peggy said afterwards, as Megan was tossing the sheets off her. "What casting committee are you gonna bedazzle today?"

"I’m not really that good", Megan tittered, hastily pulling down her gown. There was a bitterness in her voice. "I never seem to actually take any parts."

Peggy rolled over, looping the sheet around her. 

"That’s good for me, though", she intoned. "Because then you’d be rehearsing all day, and what would I do?"

"That’s not what you’re supposed to say."

"I’m joking, you know that." Peggy spent some time playing with the edge of the sheet. "Although", she mused, "I really wouldn’t mind that costume."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Don slumped back into the armchair and let out a deep breath, loosening his tie. He realized he’d probably been holding that breath for too long, and that it had probably been visible. The room sank around him, the angles flickering as he gradually lost his grip, his body shrinking to a single vein in his brow, pounding. He felt a strange itch spread inside him and his hands take off on their own, familiar shaking. 

He hated it.

 

He took another deep breath as he was caressing the bottle.

 

They never bothered to show it, or, he didn’t see it until it was always too late. Megan was already a wraith, flying at light speed out of reach – if she’d ever been within. Last night she’d been aggressive, and he’d felt a spark; maybe, he’d thought, maybe that was the chance to drop everything and confront each other for real. Just for a second, he’d felt ready to lift his veil. But she’d turned cute way too soon, and the chance was gone. It suddenly struck him that maybe she didn’t need it – that she kept provoking him out of habit, with no actual expectation of any results. Not that her disappointment was unreal, but she would try again. Inconsolable, she wasn’t. He just had nothing to do with it.

He caught himself wishing she’d taken that part and gone to Boston for three months. Not that this would have stopped them. Peggy had concluded her raiding and could now take as many days off as she pleased – and he’d never have to know of it.

He’d never have to know of anything she did anymore, and that gave him such a strong sense of void that almost frightened him.

 

 

Maybe it was his fault. Maybe time had really surpassed him, and their language was nothing to him but a gush of disjoined, indecipherable signs. No, he was being lenient, even with that in account the fact remained: they came and went as they pleased.

Because that was what they did, wasn’t it? One by one, they were sure to leave him at some point. Not one woman he’d trusted hadn’t.

They knew it all along – and yet they stayed, just as long as they still had things to take from him. Then they took off – and they were always the victims. Or, in some cases, they died.

 

 

His glass was empty and so was the bottle beside it. It was a bitter conclusion he’d have to go on with vodka. If so, he thought uncapping the slim transparent bottle with the shiny red label, then that would do.

 

 

_It was her idea_. But of course it would be.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"You left?"

Megan’s hand stopped an inch from Peggy’s brassiere clip, her eyes bulging. She couldn’t help a small chuckle. "My goodness." Then a sudden awareness shadowed her eyes. "What’s he going to do there, alone?"

"I don’t care", Peggy was very occupied with Megan’s dress’s zipper.

Megan’s arms flapped down on the sheets. "Jesus. I kind of feel sorry for him."

Peggy was done with unzipping. "I don’t."

She crawled closer, clutching Megan’s thighs between her knees, running her fingers on the small of her back. "You’re here with me, now."

"And doesn’t seem like I’m going away any time soon", Megan cast her gaze down wistfully. "I like you in this", she whispered, tracing Peggy’s coral garments. "Usually you’re the cream type."

Peggy tried to lift her chin up, fondly stroking her face on the way. "You’re okay" she soughed, almost in reassurance. "And he’s going to find his way."

"He always does, doesn’t he?"

Megan shrugged with a laugh, oblivious and awkward at the same time.

Peggy kissed her gently, the roguish smile never leaving her lips. She nodded at the nurse’s uniform that waited, laid out on the armchair.

"Now what about that thing", she cooed. "I thought we had an understanding."

 

 

 

 


End file.
